


Victoria Ex Igne

by taispeantas_laethuil



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gallows Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kirkwall Circle, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Rebellion, Templars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3260270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taispeantas_laethuil/pseuds/taispeantas_laethuil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian left Tevinter before the Mage-Templar War began, and managed to get caught up in its beginning- not that anyone is aware of his (really very minor) role in history. And he would have preferred things stay that way.</p>
<p>He would have preferred a lot of things to not have happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I have such a hankering for fic involving Dorian Pavus being stuck in the Kirkwall Circle, but I do, so here it is.

So, he watched Dorian a lot.

If he was completely honest with himself, part of that was because he was a Vint- a Vint noble mage, at that- and some habits die hard, especially when they kept running into the worst kind of Vint noble mages. A lot of that was because Dorian was pretty, and he liked pretty. None of that was really a secret. What was also not a secret, but not something people might pick up on right away, was that he _liked_ Dorian. Dorian was a regular spitfire, curious and challenging, as ready to argue as he was to learn, and just because his own sense of humor tended towards puns didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate a sharp dry wit when it started making sarcastic comments about leashes.

So, he watched Dorian, which was how he knew that Dorian started freaking out before they all fell into the ass end of demon town. Well, freaking out might be too strong- unnerved, maybe. Anxious. And it had something to do with the Champion.

Dorian kept staring at Hawke, which could have been passed off as Hawke being a pretty good-looking guy. The others probably did, if they noticed. He was pretty sure that’s what Hawke thought, given that the mage had had one conversation with the Champion and the one sentence he heard- “Maker’s breath, there’s two of you!”- made his ears burn.

The Iron Bull was less sure that was what was actually going on, but then they got sent to the ass end of demon town, which seemed a lot more important in the grand scheme of things. So, he didn’t really pursue that line of inquiry until after the Champion’s sister arrived at Skyhold with a group of rebel mages that were tired of dealing with the fallout of Starkhaven taking over Kirkwall. Varric was enthusiastic in his greetings, and Bethany herself was more inclined to answer questions and be bought drinks than her brother had been. People flocked to her- Dorian not included.

He hadn’t seen Dorian the whole day, which he probably wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t noticed his previous anxiety around the elder Hawke. As it was, he was considering trying to track the man down when he arrived at the Herald’s Rest just after sunset and slid through the crowd until he was next to Bethany, who started at his presence.

“Can I just have a bottle of wine to go, please?” he asked the bartender, drumming his fingers on the counter. It wasn’t a normal nervous tick of his, and he did it in a weird way: three taps with his index and ring fingers, followed by one with his middle. No less than four of the mages Bethany had arrived with jerked slightly, and Bethany herself inclined her head. Dorian left with his bottle of wine shortly thereafrer; it took Bethany ten to extricate herself from her admirers and follow him.

The Iron Bull counted to fifty before standing up. “Well, I’ve got to take a piss,” he announced, and the only thing that followed him out the door was a general groan of disgust.

Bethany was hurrying along the battlements. He took his time, because he didn’t want to spook her, and there was no chance of losing her: she didn’t know the layout of Skyhold too well, so Dorian was holding the door to the still-unfurnished corner tower open, making it pretty obvious.

“-didn’t tell me you were here,” Bethany was saying when he was close enough to listen.

“Varric doesn’t know. With the possible exception of Leliana, no one does, and I’d prefer to keep it that way,” Dorian replied. “He didn’t recognize me, your brother didn’t recognize me- and I didn’t recognize Cullen, let alone the other way around. I’m not even sure if he was really there or if that’s just a rumor.”

“He was at the Gallows,” Bethany replied. “He’s the one who brought me there.”

“Oh.” Dorian sounded heartbroken.

“And he’s the one who convinced Meredith not to make Alain Tranquil, after the disaster with Thrask and Grace,” she hastened to add. “If he was one of the bad ones, you’d have remembered him.”

“Very true,” Dorian acknowledged. “So- anyway, I just wanted to ask if maybe you could keep the fact that I was at the Kirkwall Circle a secret. And perhaps pass that message along?”

“Well, I’ll have to tell them something, after the way you propositioned me,” Bethany replied. “I don’t really fit your established type.”

Dorian laughed. “I hate to disappoint Valoria and Gwen, but you can assure them all that better men than Karras have tried to turn me off of men, and it didn’t work.”

Bethany makes a sort of choked-off laugh. “That’s horrible! I can’t say that!”

“You don’t need to repeat me verbatim!” Dorian protested, adding after a moment in more subdued tones. “You probably shouldn’t, in front of Jaq. Is he- doing alright, these days?”

“He’s better. Much less crying, fewer nightmares- Iker looks after him.”

“I am sorry for snapping at him like that. It was just- could you-”

“It was a difficult time, and he didn’t want to end up at the mercy of the Templars any more than you did. He knows.”

Well. This- wasn’t what he had expected to find, and it didn’t seem like it was a threat to Dorian’s security. Actually, it was probably in Dorian’s best interests that he leave now and try to forget that he’d ever heard any of this.

He made it about two steps before a gust of wind snagged a rope around his horns, and he didn’t quite manage to get free of it before it sent a pulley clanking against the scaffolding. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t very loud- but it echoed in the Iron Bull’s ears, and the sound certainly reached the mages he’d been listening to.

Dorian threw open the door, and for moment they stared at each other. Dorian looked horrified; the Iron Bull wished fervently that he’d done just about anything else.

“Uh…” he finally said, which thankfully was enough to break their staring contest.

“You’re Ben-Hassrath!” Dorian hissed indignantly. “You’re bloody Ben-fucking-Hassrath and you can’t eavesdrop without getting your horns stuck?”

“Whoops,” was pretty much the only response he could offer, because yeah, he’d walked right into that one in a very literal fashion.

“Why did they ever let you out of whatever training ground it was you went to, let alone- Bethany, stop!”

Dorian threw out his hand to stop Bethany from completing whatever spell she was casting, catching her staff mid-swing.

“Dorian, I can-”

“I have to work with Bull, which will be impossible to do if you murder him!”

“I- look,” he started to explain. “This was not my brightest idea.”

“You’re damn right it wasn’t!” Dorian exclaimed.

“What was your idea, exactly?” Bethany demanded.

“I was worried about him!”

“I beg your pardon?” Dorian asked.

“He’s been-” the Iron Bull began before realizing that Bethany probably wasn’t the person he should be addressing here. “ _You’ve_ been acting weird since we left for Adamant- since you met the Champion. Again. And then you disappeared today, only to suddenly reappear, tap out some kind of coded message, and then be followed out by her. I was worried, I wanted to make sure you were alright, and as it turns out you’re fine and this is none of my business. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

Dorian and Bethany considered that. The Iron Bull slowly and with exaggerated care, reached up a hand and resumed untangling the rope.

“Bethany? Do you think you could leave us for a moment?” Dorian asked.

“Leave you? With a Ben-Hassrath agent?”

“Former,” Dorian said, at the same time the Iron Bull said “Ex.”

Bethany looked between them skepticism plain on her face.

“Tell you what, if we’re not back in the tavern in ten minutes, feel free to come at me with whatever firepower you’ve got,” he told her.

Dorian bristled slightly, but Bethany nodded. “Ten minutes,” she said, pushing past him.

Dorian watched her go, and then turned and walked back inside. The Iron Bull followed him in, and let him close the door behind him.

“Well?” Dorian demanded.

“I’m really sorry, Dorian, this-”

“Oh, drop the act,” he all but snarled. “You aren’t here because you’re worried, you’re here because you’re curious. Go ahead, and ask your questions. We have ten whole minutes before Bethany starts playing curfew monitor.”

“Dorian, I-”

But Dorian wasn’t listening. “Would you prefer it if I got you started? Where would you like to start- how I ended up in the Kirkwall Circle? Was it really as bad everyone says it was? Would you like to know about Karras? Do you want to know what he did to me?”

Dorian was practically spitting the words; he had to stop to catch his breath, so the Iron Bull took the opportunity speak. “What I want is for you to know that I’m not going to tell anyone. This wasn’t my business in the first place, and it’s certainly not going to go any further.”

For a long moment Dorian merely stood there. Then he let out a long, slow breath and leaned forwards against the table. “Get out.”

“You’ve got it,” the Iron Bull agreed.

He didn’t quite make it out the door before Dorian added. “Don’t worry about Bethany. I’ll be down in a few moments.”

“Thanks.”

“Just go.”

There was a note of pleading in Dorian’s tone. He fled back down to the tavern, and reseated himself in his previous position, surrounded by his company. He acted pretty normally, and pretty much on autopilot, which he could see Krem picked up on, but no one else did.

Across the tavern, Bethany tapped her fingers against the barstool, closely watched by the four mages he’d noticed earlier.

He could guess which one was Jaq: the man sitting hunched over, eyes darting to the door every few seconds. He had dark skin, long hair, a well-kept goatee, and his profile wouldn’t have looked out of place in Minrathous.

As promised, Dorian arrived just a few moments after he did, took two more bottles of wine, tapping his fingers along the bottle he already had. The Iron Bull bought the tavern a round of drinks so no one would notice that he’d left.


	2. Two

Bethany knocked on his door the next morning. He invited her in, she walked inside, allowed him to shut the door, and then leaned her staff on the wall behind her.

It was a show of good faith- though it wouldn’t be too far off to put the emphasis on show. Fair’s fair though, it wasn’t like he couldn’t kill her bare-handed too: he just wouldn’t be able to do it by setting her head on fire.

“I didn’t have such a hard time of it, in the Circle,” she began, when they’d finished sizing each other up. “I’m the Champion’s sister, after all, and even before they gave him that title, having the name Hawke meant that no one wanted to touch me. Well, probably some of them did, but they didn’t want Garrett to mount their dicks to the wall of his estate more.”

She didn’t really give him enough time to properly laugh at that image before continuing. “It was almost a relief, being there. I could stop looking over my shoulder, or feeling guilty every time we had to move or pay someone to look the other way. I’d been caught, the worst was done, and it came it a warm bed, three square meals a day, and a pretty good education. They let me write to my family, so Garrett wouldn’t worry, and they left me more or less alone, so that I wouldn’t say anything to make him worry anyway. They did such a good job of it, that it took me years to realize that my experiences weren’t even close to what most of the other mages were going through, and even after I noticed, my situation didn’t much change. Dorian didn’t have any of that. He-”

“-was a cocky Tevinter mage trapped in a Circle that used the threat of blood magic to justify their Templars’ abuses of their powers. Yeah, my imagination’s good enough for me to connect the dots without you telling me any more of his secrets," he said. After a thought, he added "No offense- and I do realize that the first one was on me.”

Bethany blinked, and for a moment he was sure she was going to continue on with whatever it was she’d been planning to say anyway. He wondered if maybe she’d never said it to anyone before- if he was the first person she’d ever talked to about what day-to-day life in Kirkwall’s Circle had been like. If she’d been carrying that weight with her these past four years.

“Very well,” she said finally. “I suppose the point I came here to make is that I consider Dorian to be one of my people. I don’t expect that he’ll leave the Inquisition when we move on, and I am sure he’ll find some way to return to Tevinter and try and make it a better place, and it’s entirely possible that we’ll never see each other again. But that doesn’t mean that if I find out that you’ve used this information to hurt him or coerce him in any way, I will find you and make you wish that you crossed one of my brother’s friends instead of one of mine.”

“That seems fair,” he agreed. Bethany looked skeptical, so he added. “I like Dorian- he’s a great guy under all that bluster. I don’t want to see him hurt any more than you do, Lady Hawke.”

Bethany snorted. “I’m sorry, it’s just- the last person to call me Lady Hawke ended up invading Kirkwall with an army, determined to wipe out all of the apostates in the Free Marches.”

“Well, then.” That was not really an association he wanted to encourage. “Is there something else you’d like me to call you?”

“Just 'Bethany' is fine,” she replied. “And don’t think being friendly with me will help you if you do anything to Dorian.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Bethany,” he replied.

Bethany smile, only slightly strained, and left. The Iron Bull resumed what he was doing before she’d knocked- rummaging around for one of Stitches’ hangover remedies. He eventually tracked one down, buried in his pack, and then sat down and started the process of writing his note.

_Dorian,_

_This is one of Stitches’ hangover cures. It’s mostly elfroot, with some dawn lotus, and from there he always mumbles the ingredients so I’m not too sure what else. It hasn’t killed anyone yet, though, and it works like a charm._

That part was pretty easy. He’d written variations on that part for at least a dozen other people in Skyhold. The next part, though- that was going to be tricky. He was hoping that no one would actually read it, but he knew better than to expect that to be the reality, and he also knew that if it were opened by anyone not Dorian, it would very quickly become the subject of gossip. Eventually he settled on something vague enough not to alert anyone, and pointed enough that Dorian would be able to pick up on his sincerity. Hopefully he would pick up on his sincerity.

_Again, I’d like to apologize for my behavior last night. I won’t bring it up again, but if you ever decide that you want to talk, my door is always open._

_The Iron Bull_

He left it in nook Dorian had claimed in the library, perched on the corner of a shelf where it wasn’t entirely visible to anyone just passing by, but would hopefully catch Dorian’s eye.

When he was walking by the next day, on his way to see Red, it was gone. Other than that, nothing had changed.

Well. Nothing obvious had changed- nothing anyone could really pick up on, at least. Dorian snipped, and he flirted, and they killed three more dragons, which was as awesome the fourth, fifth, and sixth times as it had been the first. Demons, Venatori, and Red Templars continued to shit everything up, Cullen continued to lose his smalls in Wicked Grace, and Dorian didn’t knock on his door.

Someone might have noticed that Dorian was going at him a little harder than he normally would, but if they did, it never seemed odd enough to comment upon, let alone speculate that he was looking for a limit, trying to figure out what would make the Iron Bull snap and turn on him- or just provoke the event sooner rather than later and just be done with it.

And on his end of things- well, like he said, he didn’t stop flirting with Dorian. He doubted that Dorian would appreciate it if he started treating him any differently, and there was always the chance that he would read something unsavory into it. It was hard to have the sort of anger Dorian did without directing some of it towards yourself, and if there was the slightest chance that Dorian might start to think that he was sullied or broken by what Karras did to him- or even that other people were going to see him that way if they knew- he’d rather not take it.

So, he still flirted, using all kind of innuendos and puns that made Dorian flush and end his sentences in frustrated growls rather than words, but he backed off of the whole conqueror thing. It wasn’t hard- he’d already sort of gotten the vibe that that particular fantasy wasn’t the best line he could be using. He just moved it out of the ‘not your best bet for being laid’ pile and into the ‘wait for him to ask for it’ one.

They didn’t deviate from their patterns, and for a very long time, Dorian gave no indication he’d so much as thought about what the Iron Bull now knew, let alone considered taking him up on his offer.

Naturally, that changed the day they met Fenris.


	3. Three

They’d been Vint hunting for days, and no one was more annoyed by that than Dorian. It was less the actual act of Vint hunting, or even the fact that they were once more on the Storm Coast with its perpetual downpour, and more to do with the damage his less virtuous countrymen were inflicting.

“I am beginning to suspect that somewhere in Minranthous there’s a magister who’s pretending to be sympathetic to the Venatori cause for the express purpose of sending as many sadistic power-hungry idiots out of the country as possible,” he spat after they’d discovered the third ritualistically disemboweled corpse. “If I wasn’t seeing this with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe this was anything more than one of Mother Giselle’s morality plays. Venhedis!”

None of the Vints they were facing lasted particularly long- quite a few of them died in varying states of ‘panicking while on fire’ before anyone else could get to them. Dorian only stopped complaining when they found some slaves that hadn’t been killed yet, which had less to do with his mood and more to do with the fact that the survivors were distraught.

There were four main Venatori camps- one of which they had now destroyed. The plan, as far as the newly-freed slaves- who were mostly people taken from nearby villages- were able to discern involved the linking of each camp with some of the bodies they’ve already come across in some kind of runic pattern to channel the energy from killing a great deal more people in each of the camps into opening, if not another Breach, then certainly a big rift.

“We’re going to need to split up,” the Inquisitor said.

“Dorian and I will take the west camp, you and Varric take the east, and the first one to the north wins?” the Iron Bull suggested.

“Are you seriously going to turn this into some kind of race?” Dorian asked.

“Don’t worry if you can’t keep up. I can always carry you.”

Dorian scoffed, the Inquisitor agreed, and off they went.

They cleared the first camp without any trouble- the closest they came to trouble was one of the Vints getting into a swearing match with Dorian, which was actually hilarious. They broke open the cages with the slaves in them, and put one of them- the woman who’d shouted “Andraste’s flaming tits, I’m glad I lived to see that!” as soon as the slavers were all dead- in charge of keeping the others together and figuring out what they were going to need from the Inquisition. Then they took off to the north, Dorian huffing with the effort of trying to keep up.

“You know,” he said. “I really can carry you.”

“Fuck,” Dorian panted. “Off.”

The northern camp was in the process of being dismembered when they arrived, but not through the efforts of the Inquisitor and Varric. Instead, there was a lone elf, who was glowing and in the process of putting his fist through a Vint’s chest when they came within sight.

He was also still outnumbered six to one, so they didn’t get to appreciate the view very much before charging into the fray.

“Hello!” Dorian said, before the last Vint had quite fallen off the elf’s sword. “Before you jump to any conclusions about me, I’d like to point out that I lit two of the people trying to kill you on fire.”

The elf shook the corpse off his blade, and regarded Dorian for a moment. “Shouldn’t you have run back to Tevinter by now, Pavus?”

“…Maker, you would be the one to remember me,” Dorian replied.

“Is this who I think it is?” the Iron Bull asked.

“This is Fenris,” Dorian confirmed, rallying as Fenris himself blinked, as though just noticing the horns. “One of Hawke’s-”

“Lover,” Fenris finished the sentence for him, with more than a little challenge.

“I wasn’t aware Hawke had more than one of those, but yes, he’s that,” Dorian replied. “Fenris, meet the Iron Bull.”

“Thanks for remembering the definite article,” he replied.

“Don’t mention it,” Dorian said. “Now, how about we get these people out of those cages?”

He turned and made for the nearest cage- Fenris beat him to the punch, cleaving the lock from the cage with his sword. Dorian blinked, and then moved to help the people out.

“I am surprised to find you this far south, mage,” Fenris said, as he opened the next cage. The Iron Bull went to help the people from that one.

“Really? I had no idea, you hid it so well.”

Fenris grunted, and opened the last cage, and the three of them were a little too busy with people to continue their conversation. They ushered the newly freed slaves under the canopy, and Dorian started the fire back up, and then the three of them went back to the perimeter.

“The Inquisitor and Varric should be arriving soon,” Dorian said.

“Varric?” Fenris asked. “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s helping to stop the great-grandfather of all darkspawn from destroying the world with demons and blighted lyrium, same as I am,” Dorian replied.

“Don’t forget the magisters,” Fenris added.

“The Venatori aren’t being supported by the Tevinter Imperium,” Dorian said wearily.

Fenris scoffed. “And I suppose these slavers just came out of nowhere?”

“The Venatori aren’t being supported by the Tevinter Imperium in any official capacity,” Dorian corrected himself. “I’ve no doubt that some of the magisters have given them their unofficial support, but the more of these people we put out of my country’s misery the less power those magisters will have.”

“So am I to believe that this,” Fenris said, gesturing to the carnage. “Is officially supported by the Tevinter Imperium?”

“If I were with the Inquisition in an official capacity, would I be standing here in the rain getting mud all over my clothes?” Dorian asked.

“No, you’d be in a dry, heated office back at Skyhold,” the Iron Bull supplied.

“Exactly!”

“Probably misappropriating Inquisition funds to find some decent bananas.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Must you-”

“Forbidden fruit, Dorian, that’s all I’m saying. Bananas, grapes, quanri,”

“For the love of-”

“Broody!” Varric cried as he and the Inquisitor entered the clearing. He was smiling broadly, but after about three seconds he stopped, eyes darting between Fenris and Dorian. “Ah, shit. Nope. Nope! I’m done.”

“What’s the problem?” the Inquisitor asked him.

“The problem is that I spent years of my life listen to Broody and Blondie go at it, and I’m not willing to go through that again with Broody and Sparkler.”

“Is the magister as adamant about the freedom of mages as the abomination was?” Fenris asked “I suppose after what happened-”

“ _The dwarf hasn’t recognized me, and I’ll thank you to not remind him that I was in the Gallows_ ,” Dorian snapped in Tevene.

“This might be more bearable if I’m not actually able to understand what they’re saying,” Varric admitted.

“Will this be a problem?” the Inquisitor asked, this time address Dorian and Fenris.

“I won’t start a fight if he doesn’t,” Dorian replied primly.

Fenris looked at him askance, and then shrugged. “I take it you’ve discovered evidence of further Tevinter atrocities?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “Sweet Andraste, what did I do to deserve this?” he muttered, quietly enough that no one responded to it.

A map was produced from the Inquisitor’s pocket, only somewhat bloodstained. “They left us a map!”

“Then I suppose I can endure,” he replied. “Provided he does not get in the way.”

“The fewer of these idiots are allowed to return home the happier I will be, truly,” Dorian said.

“That is acceptable,” Fenris agreed, before added in Tevene. “ _Though I must question your motives for requesting my silence. I would have thought that you’d have found some way to use your involvement in the start of the Mage-Templar War to further your cause. A rallying cry for the good magisters of the Imperium, perhaps._ ”

“ _As I’ve already told you, I have no desire to discuss the matter, let alone use it_ ,” Dorian replied.

“ _You did not tell me that you didn’t wish to discuss it. You merely told me you did not wish Varric to be reminded of your involvement_ ,” Fenris pointed out.

“ _It was implied_ ,” Dorian said.

“Anyway,” the Inquisitor interrupted. “Now that Scout Harding has arrived to help sort out where our newest refugees are going, why don’t we figure out where the other Venatori are trying to reopen the Breach?”

It was less a matter of trying to figure out where and more a matter of figuring out which order to hit them in: they knew there were going to be similar attempts in West Hill, Highever, Soldier’s Peak, and Amaranthine. But West Hill and Highever were west of their position, and hitting them first would mean having to double back for Soldier’s Peak and Amaranthine- and they would run into the same problem the other way around. Highever and Soldier’s Peak were about equal distance from their current position, and that ended up being what decided it for them.

“Soldier’s Peak is a Warden outpost in the middle of nowhere, and Highever is a major city,” the Inquisitor reasoned. “Getting potential sacrifices is going to be much easier in Highever. Besides, Teyrn Cousland already has a decent relationship with the Inquisition, so if we need back up, it’ll be there.”

Hopefully, they weren’t attempting to do this thing all at the same time- in that case, they were probably already screwed.

Of course, they had to get there first. Dorian and Fenris managed to not argue by virtue of keeping as much distance as possible between them as they packed up their respective camps and made their way west. Setting up camp was a different story.

“ _I cannot believe that you can find nothing in the Kirkwall Rebellion worthy of use_ ,” Fenris said. “ _I’m sure that The Tale of the Champion has already made rounds in the north. It fits into the Tevinter model so well- a mageborn hero defending his sister from southern barbarians who do not understand her gifts_ -”

“ _If I wanted to illustrate southern barbarity I’d be better off describing a typical Fereldan dinner,_ ” Dorian said. “ _Or perhaps brandishing a swatch of plaidweave_.”

“ _The Rite of Annulment can so easily be used to justify the Magisterium diverting resources to help their southern cousin ‘defend’ themselves_ -”

“ _I am well aware that magocracy is not a solution to anything, but that does not_ -”

“ _There’s even a heroic blood mage, using forbidden arts to defend_ -”

“ _There is nothing heroic in watching a man give into his despair and using the corpses of your friends to transform himself into a monster!_ ”

“Guys _,_ ” the Inquisitor said in a long-suffering tone. “You’re going to scare the horses.”

“ _There never is! That hasn’t stopped_ -”

“ _No_ ,” Dorian cut Fenris off. “ _I refuse to discuss this or anything else with you until you either give me your word that you will not tell the dwarf, or you tell him_.”

“ _Do you_ -”

“ _Make a decision_.”

“ _You cannot_ -”

“ _You heard him_ ,” the Iron Bull interrupted them, raising an eyebrow at Fenris.

The elf stared at him. So did Dorian.

“Well, of course you speak Tevene,” he cried, switching to Trade and throwing his hands in the air.

“Yeah,” the Iron Bull drawled. “Do you think they let me into Minrathous speaking only Qunlat and Trade?”

Dorian scoffed, which was as good as admitting that he _had_ thought as much.

“What kind of organization do you think the Ben-Hassrath is?” he asked.

“One that fired you,” Dorian retorted. “So, clearly, they’re not the brightest stars in the sky.”

The Iron Bull blinked.

“Now if you’ll pardon me, I’m going to get the fire going,” Dorian said, and fled.

“I don’t know what you said to him, Tiny, but it must have been good,” Varric muttered, as Dorian determinedly stared down the slightly damp pile of wood that their soldiers had amassed.

“So,” Fenris said, turning to Varric. “A runaway magister-”

“Altus!” Dorian corrected.

“-and a Qunari spy,” he continued.

“Ex-Qunari spy,” the Iron Bull reminded them.

“I’m beginning to think Hawke isn’t the one who attracts interesting company,” Fenris concluded.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Varric said, jerking his thumb back at the Inquisitor. “This one’s hand glows.”

“I’m stealing your spare blanket,” Dorian said to him some time later.

“Well, you’re doing a crappy job of it, announcing yourself like that,” the Iron Bull told him.

“ _And Fenris gave his word. He won’t tell_ ,” Dorian added in Tevene.

“ _Good_ ,” he replied.

Dorian half-smiled at him over his stolen blanket.

“You know,” the Iron Bull added. “If you’re really cold-”

Dorian groaned preemptively.

“I can help you with that,” he finished. “You wouldn’t even want the blanket when we were through. It’d be too hot.”

“Must you-” he stopped when the Iron Bull flashed him the smuggest smile he knew how to make. “Ugh!”

Dorian stalked off towards his tent.

“You’re welcome,” the Iron Bull called after him.

The only response Dorian gave him was an inarticulate growl.

He and Fenris didn’t stop sniping at each other, of course, because it quickly became obvious that neither one of them was actually capable of not starting an argument. They both cared too much, and they both had too quick a temper for anything else. But the way Dorian fought with Fenris was different than the way he fought with other people who questioned his country’s capacity for change. He seemed to actually listen to Fenris’ complaints, for one thing.

“You weren’t like this with Gatt,” he pointed out to Dorian while they waited for the Inquisitor to finish meeting with the Teyrn.

“I was exactly like this with Gatt. I just wasn’t forced into close contact with the man for this long,” Dorian replied.

“Well, that’s a load of crap.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, but after a moment, he replied. “Gatt is Qunari. While I’m sure Fenris would never in a million years consider himself Tevinter, he hasn’t exactly moved on to anything else either.”

“Hawke,” he pointed out.

“Having a person isn’t the same thing as having a country,” Dorian argued. “And at any rate, Fenris has a much clearer picture of the worst excesses of my country than I do. I’m going to need to have some idea of the extent of the mess I’m walking into when I go back home.”

“There’s no better way of getting that information that shouting at each other every time you get within five feet of one another?”

“Well, it’s not as though I can put up a sign on the Chanter’s board,” Dorian scoffed. “And I have no intention of returning home in chains, which rules out first-hand experience.”

The Iron Bull mulled that one over for a while. “That’s not likely to happen, is it?”

“Not likely, no,” Dorian said. “I’d like to say that my father would never, but I would have said that about blood magic too. And shortly before I stopped being able to say that, I’d have said he would never try to force me to breed too.”

“Hey,” the Iron Bull said, after a moment of watching Dorian fume. “I realize you were there when I told Cassandra this, but you know that if I’m really bothering you, just tell me and I’ll stop.”

Dorian didn’t reply, but a dull hot flush started creeping up his neck and across his cheeks.

“Words, Dorian. I need you to use words here.”

“I’m not used to men flirting so brazenly with other men,” Dorian ground out between his teeth. “And with- with all the subtly of- of-”

“Of a bull in a crystal shop?”

“I was trying not to say it,” Dorian muttered.

“Well, I promise you that I have plenty of finesse where it counts.”

“We are in a Teyrn’s home,” Dorian hissed.

“Kind of adds something to mood, doesn’t it?”

Dorian refused to so much as look at him until the Inquisitor had laid out their battle plan and they were off to kill some Vints.

Highever went pretty well, insofar as they were able to disrupt the ritual before very many of the Venatori’s captives had been slain. They didn’t have that luck in West Hill.

They had already killed most of the people when they arrived, and unleashing wholesale slaughter upon the Vints didn’t help matters. As it turned out, Vint blood worked just as well as their captives, and they hadn’t quite finished clearing that first camp when the sky opened up.

The Anchor flared, causing the Inquisitor to cry out, and stumble back against Fenris, who quickly lit up like a bonfire.

The Inquisitor immediately straightened, but didn’t break contact. “Fenris…”

“Close. It,” Fenris grit out. “Take what you need and end it.”

“We’ll cover you!” the Iron Bull confirmed.

Up went the Inquisitor’s hand, and the rift began to close, slowly and painfully, vomiting demons all the while. But he, Varric, and Dorian were able to keep them off of the pair, and no Venatori reinforcements arrived. He wasn’t too worried until Fenris collapsed.

The Inquisitor still didn’t break contact, keeping a hand on his shoulder, but the elf was fading fast- literally.

“My turn!” Dorian shouted, casting on last wall of fire around them before darting to the Inquisitor’s side. His hand went on the Inquisitor’s hand on Fenris’ shoulder, feeding his magic into their effort, and two torturous minutes later the damned thing finally closed.

Dorian and the Inquisitor swayed; he and Varric took care of the rest of the demons.

“Here,” the Inquisitor said, producing a vial. “Regeneration potion.”

Dorian uncorked it and pressed it to Fenris’ lips.

“Don’t die,” he said. “Bethany will be cross.”

Fenris was almost too out of it to swallow, let alone respond, but after a few seconds his non-blue color returned.

“And it all finished without me. Too bad.” He made like he was going to try standing up, but thought better of it. “That was most unpleasant. Did you give me an injury kit?”

Varric grimaced. “Those were Anders’ special-”

“Ah.”

“Regeneration potion,” the Inquisitor repeated. “It’s powerful stuff -guaranteed to cure what ails you, and what ails anyone without a few feet of you.”

“And we’re not all finished, unfortunately,” Dorian reminded them. “There are three more camps to destroy.”

“Nothing is ever easy,” Fenris gripped, actually standing up this time.

“ _You mentioned Bethany_?” Fenris said later, once the other three camps had been destroyed and they were settling in for the night.

“ _Your lover’s sister was in Sky-hold when we left. She might still be there when we return, but she was taking her people to our Keep in the Hissing Wastes_ ,” Dorian told him, using the Tevene words for Sky, Hold, Hissing, and Wastes, rather than actually saying their names.

“ _Is there a reason you keep avoiding names_?” the Iron Bull asked.

“ _Do you think the dwarf needs any more reason to eavesdrop_?” Dorian replied, before turning back to Fenris. “ _We’ve also gotten word of the prince and the guard-captain. They’re on opposite sides of something of a civil war in the City of Chains_.”

“ _I am well aware_ ,” Fenris replied. “ _And… anyone else, from those days_?”

“ _Well, your lover left about a month and a half ago, but you know that_ -”

“ _He what_.”

“- _or don’t know that already, apparently_.”

“Varric!” Fenris snapped.

“I can’t mediate fights in languages I don’t understand,” Varric said wearily.

“Hawke was here?” Fenris demanded.

“Yeah,” Varric said, looking up from his notes in surprise. “Well, not here-here, but he was hanging around the Inquisition for a time. Didn’t you get my letter?”

“How would I have gotten your letter?”

“I had my people out looking for you. And one of them was pretty sure he’d found you.”

“Well he didn’t,” Fenris snapped. “What was in the letter?”

“I told you that Hawke had been around, and that he’d gone up to Weisshaupt to investigate Grey Warden things.” Varric said slowly.

“Anything incriminating?” the Inquisitor asked.

“I don’t think so? I kept a copy.”

“Good. We’ll bring that information to Leliana when we return to Skyhold.”

It took them a pretty long time to make it to Soldier’s Peak, and on the way there Fenris and Dorian reached a kind of equilibrium in the arguments that the others- and the horses- got used to. That only made it really obvious when they were discussing something from Kirkwall.

_“It’s just occurred to me that if you didn’t know that we had information about your lover, you must have been asking about someone else_ ,” Dorian said. “ _I don’t know about the pirate or the elf mage, but I’m sure the dwarf has kept an eye out for them_.”

“ _The abomination_ ,” Fenris replied.

Dorian glared, and Varric made a Cassandra-like noise before retreating to the Inquisitor’s side, well out of the way of potential crossfire. The Iron Bull sat quietly, waiting: there were some Ben-Hassrath habits he didn’t want to drop, and listening to valuable information was one of them.

“ _Why would I know anything about that_?” Dorian asked.

“ _Because you disembarked with him in Llomerryn_.”

“ _As did your sister-in-law_.”

“ _She is not here. Neither was she infatuated with the man_.”

_“Neither was I_!” Dorian protested.

Fenris snorted. “ _I have eyes, magister_.”

“ _Altus_ ,” Dorian snapped back. “ _And I wasn’t infatuated with him, I was grateful_.”

“ _Grateful_?” Fenris repeated disbelievingly. “ _For killing over a thousand innocent people and forcing the Rite of Annulment on the Gallows_?”

“ _The Knight-Commander had already called for the Rite- and we’d known it was coming for months. Some of the Templars- they bragged about it. ‘Normally I’d recommend making you Tranquil for that, but there’s no point when I’m going to be running you through soon.’ That sort of thing. She was going to search the Gallows for blood mages, and she would have found some - I know it, you know it, everybody knows it- and that would have been all the excuse she needed to slaughter every person in that blighted place down to the newborns who hadn’t yet been separated from their mothers yet, let alone manifested a magical ability_ ,” Dorian spat, his arms waving wildly about as he spoke. Fenris didn’t interrupt- not that Dorian seemed capable of stopping long enough for that to be possible. “ _And then the Chantry exploded, and suddenly it wasn’t that we had blood mages in the Gallows, it was that one lone apostate possessed by a spirit or a demon or whatever sort of Fade entity he was at that point had blown up a Chantry, and the rest of us were going to suffer for it. Don’t you see? We could fight on those grounds. Instead of hearing about the Rite and clucking their tongues and saying vapid things about the vulnerability of mages to corruption, some people would be sympathetic. We could fight, and if nothing else people would know that we went down swinging against a more powerful foe._ ”

“ _The mages have power the Templars could never hope to match_ ,” Fenris argued.

Dorian laughed bitterly. “ _You were there- how many people do you think knew how to defend themselves when a Templar came within a sword’s swing of them? How many people had no fucking clue how to fight, because they’d spent years in that place, having ‘don’t struggle or you’ll make it worse’ beat into their head_?” Dorian paused for a moment, visibly struggling for control. “ _We might have been able to conjure a flame with a wave of our hands, but they could put it out with a wave of their own, and then what did we have to fall back on_?”

“Is everything alright?” the Inquisitor called out.

“Peachy,” Dorian snarled.

“… would you like to try that again with some sincerity?”

“No, no I would not,” Dorian said, grabbing his staff and stalking past the perimeter of the camp, leaving his half-assembled tent laying in a sad pile on the ground. “I’m going for a walk, I’ll be back soon.”

He paused on the edge of the forest, and then ground out. “ _If you must know, the last I heard of him he’d gone to the Dairsmuid Circle to try not being an abomination. The Chantry Annulled it last year- as far as I know he died along with everyone else there._ ” Then he was gone.

Fenris glowered after him, and then sighed, his face softening slightly. “I- may have overstepped my bounds there.”

“You think?” the Iron Bull said.

“Do I even want to know what that was about?” Varric asked.

Fenris paused, before saying delicately “It’s for the best that I don’t tell you.”

“Fine by me,” Varric said.

“I’m going to make sure he doesn’t burn down the forest or getting eaten by a bear or some shit,” the Iron Bull said, and went after Dorian.

He found the human sitting on a half-rotten stump, clutching at his staff like a lifeline.

“Dorian?”

“How bad?”

“Huh?”

“What’s the fallout?” he clarified. “I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

“Fenris is keeping his word, Varric doesn’t like it when people he likes argue, and the Inquisitor is pretty curious, so I expect you’ll get some inquiries,” the Iron Bull reported, leaning against a nearby tree.

Dorian pulled a face.

“I’m mostly trying to figure out what angle to come at the line ‘I’m a big boy, I can take it’ from,” he continued. “There’s a lot of options there.”

“Maker’s breath, don’t you ever stop?” Dorian cried.

“I can go all night,” he said with a leer.

Dorian groaned, the effect of which was ruined by how he was smiling.

“I can’t be like this, you know,” he said after a moment in which the Iron Bull restrained himself from further puns. “We allied with the rebel mages, the Red Templars are lead by a man from Kirkwall- sooner or later someone is going to recognize me and I won’t be able to forestall a scene.”

“I’d recommend starting with the Inquisitor,” he suggested. “Or maybe Red.”

Dorian looked confused for a moment, before his expression cleared. “You mean to tell.”

“Yeah.”

Dorian laughed slightly, more a shaky exhale than anything else. “That’s the problem,” he said, lifting a hand from his staff so that the Iron Bull could see how much it was trembling. “If I get this distraught every time I discuss it, I’ll never be able to discuss it. It’s a liability. I can’t get this emotional, especially when I return home. This sort of thing would get me eaten alive in the Imperium.”

“So practice. My door’s always open,” he reminded him.

“I’ll consider it,” Dorian replied.

The rest of their trip to Soldier’s Peak was, if not uneventful, certainly a lot quieter. Dorian’s tent had been assembled when they returned to camp, and Fenris mostly kept his distance, which was more of an apology than either of them had expected.

Arriving at Soldier’s Peak was something else entirely- there were no captive to free or Venatori to fight. Instead there were a bunch of deformed, empty cages and corpses wearing Vint robes, covered in blood and contorted into unnatural positions.

“Creepy,” he commented, kicking over one of the bodies so that it would stop staring at him.

“Blood magic generally is,” Fenris said.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dorian muttered. “So, Inquisitor, should I prepare a fire, or should we leave them to the wolves?”

They made a pyre, if for no other reason than it was snowing heavily enough that trying to make their way off the mountain was a bad idea. The keep itself was sealed up tightly- though Varric swore that he could see someone moving around inside- so they camped out in the front courtyard. The storm blew over after a few days, and between Dorian’s magic and good old fashioned manpower they were able to make their way down to the main road to Amaranthine before nightfalls.

Actually arriving in Amaranthine was something of a non-event. There were small signs that there had been Vint activity in the area at some point not too long ago, but the Vints themselves seemed to have cleared out.

“Maybe they’ve come to their senses and abandoned their mission,” Dorian said as they watch the Inquisitor determinedly sift through the ashes on a hastily-extinguished fire pit.

“I think you’ve just guaranteed that that isn’t what happened,” Varric said.

“I think we’ve got a problem,” the Inquisitor said, brandishing a half-burnt piece of parchment.

The Venatori had moved south, to Denerim.

At first, it seemed like that was more of a problem for the Vints than for the people of Denerim or the Inquisition. They’d gone after the elves, which would have ensured that nobody important noticed them until too late, but Denerim’s alienage wasn’t like other alienages. For one thing, it was its own bann, lead by an ennobled elven woman who remembered when slavers had taken some of her people during the Blight, had about as much patience for it as Dorian or Fenris did, and little trouble raising a militia. By the time they’d arrived on the scene, the Vints had been reduced to a handful of handful of very ragged spellbinders holed up in an abandoned warehouse.

“ _Isn’t it embarrassing to see your countrymen so easily outmaneuvered_?” Fenris asked.

“ _Are you kidding_?” Dorian replied with unrestrained glee, casting a protective barrier around the Bann as she shot at one of the spellbinders, hitting his squarely in the crotch. “ _This is fantastic! I want these people embarrassed! I’m going to ask Red to write up some propaganda so the whole Imperium knows about it_!”

That was the moment that a bunch of street urchins, very obviously under some kind of blood thrall, started pouring in from the alleyways.

“Stop jinxing us!” Varric yelled.

Between the Inquisition and the Bann’s militia, they managed to hold their position until reinforcements arrived- King Alistair leading them. He’d have thought that the king’s presence was some kind of publicity stunt, but the fighting was brutal and went on until well into the next day.

“Now that I don’t have Corypheus’ mind whammy thing in my head, I’d like to go out and actually do something,” he explained.

“If you want some suggestion, I’m sure I can come up with some,” the Inquisitor replied.

They began their journey back to Skyhold with a promise of having their respective peoples getting in touch. Fenris didn’t come with them.

“I’ll be able to get in touch with Isabela from Alamar. She’ll want to chase after him too.”

“Well, don’t get too far ahead,” Varric said. “I’ll try to join up with you when this blows over.”

He was tired- they were all tired. It had been a long campaign, and they would have been tired even if that last battle hadn’t been such a catastrofuck. It was probably for that reason that the Inquisitor decreed that they were stopping in Caer Bronach for a couple of days. Most of the company more or less fell asleep as soon as they were assigned a bed, but the Iron Bull was still a little too full of adrenaline for that. He went down into the village instead- he remembered that the naturalist, Judith, had been making eyes at him the last time he’d been this way, and he kind of thought that maybe she’d be interested in making a little more than that.

He was right, so he it wasn’t until the next night that he heard Dorian knock.

“Can I come in?” he asked once the Iron Bull had opened the door.

“Of course,” he replied.


End file.
